Reflected
by OneBiscuitShort
Summary: Harry isn't coping well with Sirius's death, and since he has stated back at Hogwarts, it seems to have become worse. He finds a way of looking at the world without looking at life. This is a One-Shot.


**Title:** Reflected

**Author:** OneBiscuitShort

**Rating:** PG

**Ships**: H/Hr

**Summary:** Harry is finding that coping with Sirius's death is harder than he thought it would be. He finds a way of watching the world without seeing the glorious world Sirius left behind. A One-Shot...unless it carries me away!

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**Reflected  
**  
Harry stared at himself in the window. The reflection looked transparent, like a Hogwarts ghost. His eyes were reflected in the pale window, a greyish dark imitation of their emerald green glory. He had remained glued to that image of himself since classes had finished, picked at his food during dinner in the Great Hall and had outright refused to finish off his homework with Hermione and Ron. He stayed glued to the fixture, watching every flicker of movement behind him.  
  
Dark imitations of his Gryffindor friends and even the first years who had just got through the Sorting Ceremony. He couldn't bear to watch their real, physical selves walking around, talking to their friends, working and generally being _alive_. It was dark and sinister, and he knew it, but it was the only way he could cope with himself. His mind urged him to forget about everything and everyone, just to run away from Hogwarts and from the pretence her was hiding under. He hardly spoke on the train; he didn't look at Hermione and Ron during their annual Diagon Alley visit.  
  
The rain outside drizzled down onto the glass, making tiny droplets of rainwater dribble down onto the stone. The reflections were even clearer, like looking at them through frosted glass. In the first days of September, it had done nothing but pour down, even as the overcast sky seemed to let a little sunlight through. The black clouds had floated over. The weather seemingly accompanied Harry's mood.  
  
He watched the grey shapes move behind him, watching the flashing flames dance in the fireplace. The common room was alight with the life of the Gryffindor's. However, their chatter was drowned out by Harry's own thoughts. Every now and then, the slightest comment would filter through, temporarily rising him from his mind slumber. Things like, 'That's Harry Potter' and 'Pass the ink, Terry.'  
  
The Grandfather clock chimed it's nightly toll, and Harry could see the tired students drifting off in their groups to their dormitories, exhausted after their first week back at Hogwarts. The groups trudged off to their gender specific stairwells and bid goodnight to their friends. From the view in the window, he saw the grey shape of Ron tidy his belongings away into his bag and slung the bag over his shoulder.  
  
Hermione and Ron paused for a moment briefly chatting about something Harry couldn't hear, Hermione folded her arms and chewed her thumb nail as Ron spoke. Ron smiled at Hermione and walked up to bed. He called "Night, mate", to Harry before plodding up the stairs, whistling the Quidditch European Cup theme song.  
  
However much it struggled, a hint of a smile played upon Harry's lips but he couldn't let it last and it disappeared before he could acknowledge it. Still the memory of Ron's singing Birthday card during the summer holiday brought the image streaking back into focus; the picture of Ron on the front, getting Goalkeeper tips from Christina Muldrop, league player this year for the Chudley Cannons.  
  
Rising him from the memory, the feeling of a small hand pressed down onto his shoulder. Harry looked up into the window too see Hermione staring into his grey eyes through the reflection, looking deeply into the depressing grey. Even in the reflection of her eyes shone brilliantly, with spirit that he knew he didn't have anymore.  
  
"Strangely," she started her fingers lightly relaxing on his white shirt shoulder. "Ron's convinced that England will beat Germany this year. I've told him it's nearly impossible odds but you know Ron. He doesn't like to listen to me."  
  
Harry tried to read into her words but he couldn't find any hidden meaning inside. Instead, he read the eyes that stared intensely into his own, her frosted glass expression in the window. She spoke about trivial matters, Ron and Quidditch, the two trivial matters that she knew Harry had an interest in, but all Harry could hear was her comforting voice pleading with him, saying 'Don't give up. Hold on.'  
  
"We love you, you know? Ron loves you...S-Sirius loves you," she stuttered but as she did, Harry raised his hand up to hers. Her free arm moved around his waist, grasping his other hand and interlacing their fingers, making the contact personal. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, hugging him, feeling him alive. "I love you."  
  
Harry felt a jerk, a sob from Hermione. He heard her whimper once so he turned, breaking their contact for a moment but keeping hold of her hand tightly, as if it were his only connection to her world. His eyes met the brown glow from her, instead of the grey ghost sparkle. Hermione was alive and was there with him. The glow in her eyes was the presence of _life_; a life that he needn't be afraid to join.  
  
He knew he'd flinched at the word 'Sirius'. He knew that she was right, that Sirius had loved him and probably still did, but it was the fact within her words that made it unbearable. Hermione's eyes were tearful and almost at breaking point but she still searched his eyes, searching so deeply, hoping to find that one lifeline inside a broken boy.  
  
"Oh Harry," she whimpered, tears flowing from her eyes, her hand moving to cradle his cheek. He nuzzled it, one of the only comforts he'd been granted, the feeling of a caring touch, of a loving thumb that caressed his tear beaten face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  
  
She broke down and Harry melted into her, enveloping her in his arms. He didn't hold her, he let her hold him. She was keeping him from falling, from hitting the foreboding bottom and he felt her hair lightly fall over his neck. He rested his cheek on her head, burying his lips, his nose and his eyes into her brown locks.  
  
"Why?" he asked, kissing the crown of her head. "Why are you sorry, Hermione? Don't...feel sorry for me, please."  
  
She sobbed again, griping onto his shoulder where one hand of hers still rested.  
  
"Because everything you feel, I feel," she replied, closing her eyes forcefully, blocking out any tears unsuccessfully that were threatening to fall. "Every last strand of pain...I can see it, Harry. I can feel it."  
  
She lifted her head, "I know I love you, and I know that I'll keep feeling this way. I see you everyday, I see your eyes, Harry and this is killing you inside...and I'm sorry because I don't know what to do or...or what to say to make it better. Tell me what to do, Harry. Tell me what to say to make it better."  
  
Harry looked at her. He didn't know or even understand what he was feeling, something painful and something happy, fused together inside him, inside his heart. He nuzzled her nose for a brief second with his, feeling her tears mingle with his own then finally, he pressed his lips to hers. It lasted briefly then he looked at her.  
  
She was alive. She was with him. She was the one who was stood in front of him asking how she could stop his pain, how she could stop the dull ache that travelled through the corners of his heart. She wasn't a shadow, she wasn't an imitation, she wasn't a reflection. She was real and pulsing with vibrancy for life.  
  
"Just be here for me," Harry replied, giving her a grin that, maybe unconsciously, showed his pain. "Just, please, be here. Don't...don't leave me, please...never leave me."

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The only way to be critical is to tell me so R&R please!


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